Housewarming
by A Darker Shade of Bright
Summary: (WIP) A mostly LupinTonks story about Harry's 5th Year summer, from Lupin's POV. Lots of change for lots of people. Rated for mild language and sexual content. Chapter 5 up!
1. A Time for Chocolate

Housewarming  
  
Chapter One: A Time for Chocolate  
  
"So that's it, then." Remus Lupin glanced over the papers one more time.   
  
"That's it. I wash my hands of the whole bloody thing. I can't spend another night in this house. It frightens the living shit out of me half the time." Tonks spoke in an agitated voice, running a hand through her purple spiky hair. Actually, reflected Remus, she seems rather calm after this last incident, comparatively. But then, being beseiged by Cornish pixies was nothing to the Assault of the Enchanted Anvils, as the last event had come to be known, and both paled in comparison to the Magical Flying Squash Casserole Affair (although, conceded Remus inwardly, that was later discovered to be caused not by the vengeful house, but by two meddlesome redheads with a knack for making people livid).   
  
"I swear this house has it in for me," Tonks muttered, reaching in her pocket for her bag of Hogsmeade candy and pulling out a Sugar Quill. She gnawed a bit on the end of it, reminding Remus of a feisty kitten. Looking up at him, she met his eyes briefly, expression gone from her face. Then she resumed her previous state. "Go on with you, Lupin, sign the damn thing. It's yours, the lot of it." She bit down hard on the quill, causing it to break in half. "Bugger."  
  
The absurdity of the whole situation made Lupin want to laugh and cry all at once. Number 12, Grimmauld Place, or Black Manor, as it was known, was left to Nymphadora Tonks, as she was the only member of the Order of the Phoenix who had any biological claim to it. But with a flat of her own in London, and with the recent onslaught of misfortune befalling her within Black Manor's hallowed halls, Tonks decided she needed to be elsewhere and offered the ancient mansion to someone who could use it with more appreciation and perhaps fewer injuries. Lupin's own flat was perhaps in worse condition than the Manor, and a great deal smaller. Yet, his flat didn't smell of Sirius, lingering in the air and reminding Lupin of yet another beloved friend he had lost. Lupin resolved to take Tonks up on her offer anyway, reasoning that at least he would have ample room to change at full moon.   
  
"Sign Here," read the note at the bottom of the papers in gold metallic lettering. Lupin reluctantly dipped his quill into the inkpot atop the kitchen table and positioned it above the parchment. Finally, he signed his name in small, neat script. Then he pushed the packet across the table and watched as Tonks followed suit, scrawling her name in enormous, illegible quillstrokes underneath his signature.   
  
"Well," Tonks breathed, looking relieved. "Welcome home, Remus. You know, we should celebrate. There's some firewhiskey in the fridge. I think there's even some Muggle tequila, quite tasty, really, if you're up for something new-"  
  
"Thank you, Nymphadora, but I'm quite familiar with tequila. No thank you. And I'd suggest you lay off it, as well. Don't want to Apparate under the influence or anything."  
  
"Oh, a spoilsport, eh?" She looked almost dejected. Remus half-considered taking her up on her offer. "Well, at least have some Honeyduke's. Bought it this morning, you know, it's the time of the month for chocolate. I've got half a bar..."  
  
Remus blushed. He and Tonks were friends, but he didn't think she considered him as one of the friends she would share that kind of personal information with. Knowing Tonks, though, she probably assumed all personal information was public property. She wasn't shy. He smiled.  
  
"Since you seem so eager to share it..."  
  
Beaming at him, Tonks reached once again in her bag and pulled out the bar, its wrapping folded back to allow access to the chocolate. She removed the wrapping entirely and handed him the slab.  
  
"You'd better get going, Tonks." Remus simply didn't like the way she was smiling at him, or the way his stomach did a spectacular forward roll when he thought about it. "It's rather late, and I'll be changing in a few minutes. You really probably shouldn't be here at all."  
  
"All right, then, Moony. See you at the Order meeting next week. And don't let the house get to you!"   
  
"Bye, now," Remus murmured, moments before Tonks vanished with a pop.  
  
Tentatively placing a piece of decadent chocolate on his tongue, Remus noticed suddenly how he thought he could taste her fingerprints, and how sweet the feeling was.  
  
Swallowing the slab nearly whole, Remus felt a familiar tingle along his spine. 


	2. Mourning

Chapter 2: Mourning  
  
Scratch. Snuffle. Screeeeeeeeech!!  
  
Remus was startled awake.  
  
What the bloody hell could be both awake and functional at this hour? Save lethifolds, he added to himself, shuddering.   
  
He put a robe on over his shorts and lit his wand softly, not caring to irritate the perpetrator of the horrendous noise any further. Then he hesitantly sniffed at the air, trying to sense where and what the disturbance was coming from. He found himself facing upward at the ceiling, where Buckbeak's room lay situated in the great mansion. Of course, he thought. Buckbeak.  
  
He walked out of his bedroom, toward the staircase. As he walked he thought to himself how strange it was to hear the great Hippogriff making such a fuss. Since Sirius died he hadn't really seemed to notice anything about his surroundings. The Order had tried to feed him, but for the most part he avoided it, consuming only enough to sustain life. Perhaps he had been noisier these past few nights; Remus wouldn't have known. This was his first night in Black Manor as a coherent human being, the change having rendered him helpless for the time being.  
  
Startled out of his reverie by another piercing screech, Remus finally reached the door to the room Buckbeak occupied, hesitating to open it. Turning the doorknob, he held his wand out in front of him cautiously.  
  
What he saw, however, touched him, and he lowered his means of defense as he walked towards the enormous pile of straw in the middle of the great room. Buckbeak was sprawled out on top, asleep but tossing about violently. It reminded Remus both of a dog dreaming of a chase and of a child having a night terror. The creature would be perfectly, disturbingly still for a few moments. Then, without warning, he would lash out at the air with his talons and at the ground with his hoofs, and would periodically throw his head back and scream desperately, and yet was miraculously unaware of all of it and didn't wake himself up. Finally he would lapse back into a few minutes of quiet before starting over again.   
  
Remus watched him for ten minutes or so, noting his behavioral patterns and thinking back to his Advanced Care of Magical Creatures classes at school and his readings on animal behavioral psychology. But nothing in his experience had ever involved Hipogriffs with sleeping disorders.   
  
Throwing caution to the wind, Remus at last strode over to the suffering creature and ran a hand along his spine. Buckbeak shuddered, then made half a move to scratch at the air before lowering his talon sleepily. He seemed to murmur in his sleep a bit, but Remus found that overall his motions to soothe the hipogriff payed off. Once or twice he let out a full-fledged screech, causing Remus to back up and extend his wand warily, but this lasted merely a moment and he once again drifted off.  
  
Believing the animal to be calmed, Remus yawned and stood up from where he knelt, turning around towards the door. But as he did, he noticed something lying half-covered in straw. Bending down to investigate, he saw that it was a large picture frame. He picked it up and brushed the straw and dust away.  
  
There facing him was a young, dark-haired, smiling man on a broomstick, whizzing in and out of the picture. He recognized the man immediately as Sirius, some sixteen years before. His heart began to thump against his throat as tears struggled to fight their way out of his blinking eyes. He forced himself to look at the picture, fearing that he would one day forget that face and the happiness it had once contained. He looked at it, and then he noticed that another figure was present in the image.   
  
A little girl, six or seven years old and clad in a bright green flowered tunic and trainers, was riding in front of Sirius, who towered over her as he wrapped his strong arms around her tiny waist. She was laughing, too, Remus saw, as she swung up to tremendous heights and then plummeted again, Sirius keeping his firm grip on the broomstick's handle to protect them both from touching the ground. Her hair changed color in midair, going from dark red to blinding neon green to match her tunic. Then they escaped past the edge of the frame, only to return five seconds later, to relive the whole scene.  
  
Remus could hear Sirius's hearty laughter and Tonks's high-pitched shrieks. He remembered every detail of that afternoon. He remembered how Tonks had begged Sirius to take her up on the broom, and how Sirius had pretended not to want to, and how Remus had secretly known that Sirius would have liked nothing better, because he adored the living daylight out of his wee cousin. He remembered how, after they finally dismounted, Tonks had hit the ground running and traipsed about the Quidditch pitch with unlimited energy, forcing her cousin and his friend to run after her breathlessly. And he remembered how, once Sirius caught up with her (Remus having fallen behind several yards back), he had tackled her and began mercilessly tickling her, drawing more shrill giggles from her. He even remembered developing the film, and watching the expressions on their faces blossom merrily as they engaged in their aerial dance.   
  
He lowered the picture frame back to the ground, where Buckbeak could see it when he woke up. He didn't know if it was healthy for the hippogriff to mourn like this, but then, what did he know?   
  
A tear slowly escaped from the corner of his eye and fell upon his lips as he made his way back to his bedchamber. He removed his robe and lay atop his coverlet, letting the bitter air bite and nip at his bare skin as he nodded off.  
  
Within a few hours the morning sunlight came trickling in through the curtains. 


	3. Elbow Grease

Sorry; it's been a tough 6 weeks, from procuring props for a play at school, to taking stage combat lessons (yes, it is VERY cool, like the Dueling Club only better, because I have an instructor who fights better than Snape- and looks better than Snape... sighness), to actual HOMEWORK and boring stuff like that. But here you have it, Chapter 3, which is nice and long for your reading pleasure:-) I'm actually quite proud of this one, to tell you the truth.  
  
Chapter 3: Elbow Grease  
  
Remus took his coffee black.  
  
The reason for this was that he figured life was bitter, and there was nothing he liked more than drawing parallels. The way you start out in the morning is the way you end up when you go to bed. Bitter. Every morning, every night.   
  
He also drank it cold.  
  
Swig after swig, Remus downed his first cup of the day like a pint of whiskey as he sat alone at the kitchen table. He browsed the Daily Prophet feeling much the same way he had felt last summer toward it; it was all the same. Then, there had been nothing but ignorance. Now, there was nothing but blind panic and bad news.   
  
It was his first full morning at Grimmauld Place. Last night he had experienced a bit of drama with Buckbeak, but that was all over now, and not a peep had been heard from the hippogriff since then. He supposed that, sore as he was still from the full moon, today would be a good time to tackle some of the cleaning he had planned to do. He washed out his coffee cup and placed his orange peel in the trash basket, then sat back down to make a list of things to do.  
  
--------------------  
  
#1: Scour the Bathrooms.  
  
"Put some elbow grease into it," he could hear Professor Grouse, the Potions Mistress, chide him and his companions in a singsong voice. The stark-faced, crow-like middle-aged woman sat with her feet on her desk, drumming her fingers together evilly. The five boys glared up at her in unison, then went back to scrubbing the floor.   
  
Remus wanted it to be known that he had had nothing to do with this mess. It was Snape, the slimy git. And Padfoot. And, well, Prongs too. And Wormtail- he had done a grand job of buggering things up, himself. But Moony was completely apart from the scenario. He'd just happened to be in cahoots with the culprits.  
  
It had been earlier that afternoon. It was Friday, and their last class of the day had been Double Potions with Slytherin. The four Marauders were chatting amongst themselves when in walked Snape, walking quickly, his face buried in another book. He was always reading, and sometimes Remus thought fleetingly that it would be interesting to drop his hatred of him and to get to know him, because he read a lot himself; then he remembered exactly what it was that Snape was usually reading. The greasy-haired youth made his way to an unoccupied desk in the very front of the room. Not looking, he attempted to sit down in his chair while still reading, but missed. Before he knew it he was flat on his bum, inches from the chair. The class was in uproar. Snape thrashed around to glare at them all before rising into his seat and immersing himself back in his book. As soon as he sat down at his seat, Grouse entered the classroom with a flourish and began the day's lesson. While she talked, James, who sat next to Remus, whispered to him. "I wonder what it is Snape's reading this time?"  
  
"Probably something distasteful, as usual." Remus was only partly listening to James; he was trying to copy down Grouse's notes, as he knew they would be useful.   
  
"Yeah," chimed in Sirius, who was behind them. "But look at the bastard, he's engrossed in the damn thing. He's not even taking notes! I wonder what it is." Pettigrew giggled in agreement.   
  
And soon enough, their chance came to find out. They heard a knock at the door five minutes later. "Come in!" Grouse shrieked.  
  
"Professor Grouse," began a pale, worried-looking second-year Hufflepuff, breathing heavily from exertion. "I come to tell you- Shawn Muldoon's done transfigured 'imself into a potato! McGonagall tried the counter-charm, but 'e wouldn' fix! Madam Pomfrey needs the ingredients for the elixer, quick!"  
  
Grouse slowly walked around to the front of her desk. "And how, pray tell, does she plan to administer this elixer to-" her expression turned sour- "'fix' Muldoon?"  
  
"Gonna cut 'im open and butter 'im with it, for all I know, Ma'am. Please, he needs it soon's possible!"  
  
Grumbling to herself ("It's probably his animagus. Potato, indeed,") Professor Grouse strode over to her cupboard and pocketed a few of its contents before following the young Hufflepuff out of her classroom. As an afterthought, she poked her head back into the room. "You, boy! Lupin! Watch the class for a few moments! It appears I have some... business... to attend to." And with that, she was gone.  
  
Remus stood up shakily, flattered in a strange way that his professor had asked him to lead the class. He walked over to the front, quiet whistles from the general direction of the Marauders heard among the din of the teacher-less class. "Um... Class..." No one seemed to be paying attention to him. Now he knew what Grouse must feel like, giving lectures while her students made a commotion. "Class!" Not even Sirius and James were paying attention. The only one who was looking at him at all was Snape, and he watched him with cold, calculating eyes for a second before returning to the tome in his hands. Remus looked around for some way to call the class to order...  
  
Suddenly an idea struck him. He began to gather up all the books on the case behind Grouse's desk, and then charmed them to make them float. They managed to reach the ceiling unnoticed before Remus let his magic slip and suddenly they all came crashing down at top speed.   
  
Everyone startled to attention; Remus performed a neat cleaning charm and brushed his hands together, facing the class. "I think... um... I think that we ought to begin our potions, before Professor Grouse comes back. Er... was everyone paying attention to the ingredients, or shall I write them on the board?" They stared at him blankly, angry with him for interrupting their much-more-important conversations. "Er- right then. Well, I'll just, um..." He walked to the board and began to copy from his notes. But when he finished, he turned around again and saw that no one was writing. "Oh, why don't you just listen?" he asked quietly; then he realized that there was a new development going on in the vicinity of Snape's work table.  
  
Snape had let his book take second place to his potion, and it was now sitting beside his cauldron. The three Marauders not standing in front of the Potions classroom were eyeing the book with overpowering curiosity. Slowly the three of them, let by Padfoot, translocated to visit their Slytherin classmate. "Oy, Snivellus!" exclaimed Padfoot jovially.  
  
"What is it, Black?" growled Snape, adding a hippogriff talon to the steaming brew.   
  
"We were just wondering..." he began slyly, motioning to Prongs behind Snape's back. "What exactly is that fascinating book you've been so enraptured with?" At that moment, James snatched up the book, and Snape froze.   
  
"Give it back, Potter," he said in a deadly whisper.  
  
"Make me, Snivellus. Ooh, what do we have here?" James's eyes widened mirthfully, seeing the title of the book.  
  
"POTTER!" Snape shouted, skillfully skirting around the cauldron as he made to grab the book from him. By now the entire class was watching. Lupin became aware of the fact that he was glued to the spot on which he stood, and ought to do something about the pandemonium the classroom had descended to, but he waited perhaps a second too late to hear the title of the book Snape had been reading-  
  
"DATING FOR MUGGLES!" exclaimed James triumphantly, as Sirius and the rest of the class burst into fits of evil glee and poor Severus Snape sank into the epitome of adolescent embarassment, clutching his wand with a death grip-  
  
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" he shouted, aiming for James, who ducked, and hitting Peter, who with wild, desperate eyes fell facefirst into Snape's table and knocked over his cauldron, spewing steaming green muck over everything and everyone.  
  
It was at that moment that Professor Grouse chose to reenter the room, and promptly award an evening of detention to the four involved, and to Lupin, whom she was sure had done nothing to prevent his friends' little escapade.  
  
It was a long, grueling evening.  
  
--------------------  
  
Remus smiled a little to himself at the memory, dipping his sponge back into the bucket of water and continuing to scrub the floor mercilessly. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and his muscles were beginning to ache slightly from working. He knew that most wizards would have simply performed a charm, and the floor would be spotless, but he didn't mind. He was his mother's son, after all. He had grown up in a half-Muggle household, and he never forgot his heritage. He scrubbed until he couldn't scrub anymore.  
  
As he finished, charming the water in the bucket to disappear and placing bucket and sponge in their rightful places, he heard a quiet knock on the door with his sensitive ears. He padded into the entrance hall, curious as to who could be visiting at midday on a Monday. Performing a few spells for safety, he opened the door, to find-  
  
"Tonks!"  
  
"Wocher, Remus!" she replied, coming inside as he closed the door. "You smell like an entire Quidditch team in the middle of August!" she exclaimed irreverantly as she walked to the kitchen and plopped down in a chair, pointing her wand at the coffee pot behind her and pulling out a scroll from her handbag.  
  
"I do no such thing," he retorted, sitting next to her. "Wait a minute," he wondered aloud. "Why are you here, anyway? I thought you said you wouldn't come back here in a million years."  
  
"I've got to come back for Order meetings, silly," she said, poring over an obviously boring document before finally giving up and tossing it back into her purse. "And anyway, I had to find somewhere to have lunch today. Kingsley and Arthur were at meetings, and Molly was on Order business. So I came here."  
  
"Don't you have your own flat?" Remus asked without thinking. But Tonks picked up immediately-  
  
"If you don't want me here, I can leave, you know," she said matter-of-factly, getting up out of her chair.  
  
"No!" Remus said, pulling at her arm. "You don't have to leave! I didn't mean that, Tonks. I meant-"  
  
"Relax, Moony. I'm just pouring coffee. Besides, do you really think I'd leave even if you wanted me to?" She had a point. "What have you been doing today, anyway?" she asked him cooly.   
  
"Just cleaning. I cleaned the bathrooms."  
  
"All seven?!" Tonks nearly choked. "I didn't even clean one of them!"  
  
"I noticed," Remus quipped as he got up to pour himself another cup.  
  
"You used magic, I hope... although by the state of you I don't think you did. Did you?" He shook his head, raising his cup to his lips. She breathed. "You never cease to amaze me, Remus Lupin." He felt the warm liquid gush down his throat. "How did you do it?"  
  
"Elbow grease," he answered, flinching as he took another sip of the bitter coffee. He watched as Tonks added three heaping teaspoons to her cup, followed by a generous helping of cream. He surveyed her as she stirred.  
  
For Tonks, life was sweet. The greatest hardship she had endured was Sirius's death, which was, albeit, enough to make any of them bitter. But Tonks had a candy-pink personality to match her hair, and her life had seen more ups than downs. She was young. She still had her ideals, whatever they were. She had her dreams, and she had her future to see them come true, God willing she should live long enough. She had seen one skirmish against the Dark. Remus ascribed seven all-out battles to his name.   
  
Remus found himself wishing more than anything in the world right now, apart from wishing Sirius alive again, that this candy-pink woman before him would never lose her sweetess and her youth. But there were dark times ahead. And under the circumstances, Nymphadora Tonks may have to grow up after all.  
  
When she left a few minutes later, he decided to give in to his fatigue. He heaved up the staircase, finally finding his bedroom door and collapsing onto his bed. He slept for the longest time, dreaming of happy, impossible things. He too used to believe in those dreams. But much had changed since then. 


	4. The Prophet

The Prophet

By A Darker Shade of Bright  
  
Arthur, Molly, Bill, Ron, and Ginny were all sitting around the kitchen table one quiet evening in early July. Hermione was there, too, listening to the conversations the family was having. She went back and forth from Molly and Arthur's discussion of Fudge's recent threatening letters, to Bill and Ginny's chitchat about quidditch, listening raptly to both pairs. Each time she came here, it still amazed her. This place felt more like a home than any place she had ever experienced. Every nook and cranny was full to bursting with warmth and love and fierce bravery and loyalty and a dash of stubbornness- all the things one would associate with a Weasley. There was never a dull moment- and when there was, an explosion coming from the general direction of the twins' room, or a shrill screech from Molly Weasley directed toward some troublemaker or another, ended it abruptly. As much as Hermione loved her parents, her own stark, cold, sterile house was nothing compared to the Burrow.  
  
Ron excused himself from the table quietly. Hermione watched him slowly ease himself out through the kitchen door and into the living room, and decided to follow him. The more time she spent around her friend, the more she began to wonder if there wasn't more to him than he realized. She knew he had constantly compared himself to his brothers since he was a boy, and when he had made friends with Harry in their first year at Hogwarts, he began to compare himself with his best friend, as well. Harry was the Boy Who Lived. He defeated Voldemort, was the youngest Quidditch player in a century, and was beginning to enjoy the attention of a good many Hogwarts girls. And even considering all the bad things Harry had do endure, Hermione knew that right now, if given a choice between being himself and being Harry, he would rather recklessly choose Harry.  
  
Spending time alone with Ron was strange. When Hermione was alone with Harry, she felt as though she were talking to a younger brother. She taught him things he might need to know, and when they talked, she felt as though she were being perfectly honest with him, and he with her. They had virtually no secrets. They could be happy, and there was no underlying tension, no sense of something other than pure, normal friendship. When Harry and Hermione were around Ron, every move Ron made either irritated her to no end or it made her want to reach out and embrace him for his complete lack of brain. He always said exactly the wrong thing, and a very large part of her actually believed that he meant what he said and couldn't think of anything better. But when Ron and Hermione were alone together, things were different. He still said exactly the wrong thing, but in a playful, self-deprecating way. And she knew Ron was being honest with her deep down, even though she sometimes wondered if she were being completely honest with him.  
  
He was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace when she found him. "Hi, Ron," she began quietly, sitting next to him and watching the flames.  
  
"Hermione, do you like it here?" he asked her frankly.  
  
"Very much so," she answered.  
  
"Better than Bulgaria?" he continued, a hint of a growl in his deep voice.  
  
"How am I supposed to respond to that, Ronald?" she asked, slapping his leg playfully.  
  
"You're supposed to say that you'd rather be somewhere romantic with that Krum bloke, while he strokes your hair and makes you feel pretty and whispers sweet nothings in your ear."  
  
"Ron..."  
  
"You know, my apologies for not making you feel gorgeous enough. Sorry, I just don't know how to make something perfect even more perfect. My mistake."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock.  
  
"Don't go acting all surprised about it, 'Herm-own-ninny'. Don't tell me you haven't known from the moment we met that I fancied you."  
  
Pause.  
  
"No, Ron, actually, I haven't."  
  
Another pause.  
  
"Oh." Ron grew very, very pink indeed. He scratched his red head awkwardly. "Er, that came out... wrong."  
  
Hermione folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. "You fancy me?"  
  
"Just a bit," Ron drawled. He held his face in his hands, obviously at the height of embarassment. "Sorry about that."  
  
"No, Ron, it's just... Well, I never thought..." Hermione's usually brilliantly clear mind had gone quite foggy. Her thoughts were a bit jumbled, trying to fit all the pieces together- "Oh, Merlin," she slapped her forehead, suddenly aware of everything all at once. "Ron, you fancy me!"  
  
"Thanks for the notice." Ron was still miserable looking, but Hermione had just solved a very good riddle.  
  
"The Yule Ball, and Krum, and the Quidditch match... I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner! You fancy me! Oh, how could I have been so stupid? And all those times we fought, and Scabbers and Crookshanks... Oh, Ron!" She threw her arms around him in a quick, triumphant hug.  
  
But when she pulled back, she suddenly understood. Really understood. She turned ever so slowly to face him, her face turning from pink-with- excitement to pale white. "Ron," she whispered, looking at him with serious, giant brown eyes, "you-"  
  
"Yes, Hermione! I fancy you! I love you! I need you! I've been desperate for you since we were kids! I dream about you at night! I can't breathe properly when you're around me! I FANCY YOU!"  
  
He inhaled slowly. She exhaled slowly. They both realized simultaneously that they had an audience.  
  
The entire contents of the house had spilled into the parlor and were watching the pair of them with a mixture of confusion and amusement. Hermione didn't know how long they had been there, but she guessed it was long enough to get the gist of what had been said between them. Ron, if it were possible, turned even redder.  
  
Miraculously, Molly chided the voyeurs standing about in the doorway. "All right, the show's over," she beckoned them gently."Everyone out." Hermione watched Molly shoo everyone out of the parlor and felt her control of the situation slip once again.  
  
Finally, Molly was the last one left in the room besides the pair of them on the couch. She strolled out and the door was closing on her when-  
  
"**THE BRIDES OF DARKNESS WILL DESTROY THE HOME OF THE MARKED ONE**."  
  
Hermione was no seer, but she knew that Ron's voice didn't sound like that, nor was his posture ever upright and electrified-looking like that.  
  
Molly had crossed the room and was kneeling rapt at her son's feet within two seconds.  
  
"**TWO SISTERS HAVE SET OUT IN THE NIGHT TO UNDO WHAT UNDID THEIR MASTER FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. LORD VOLDEMORT DOES NOT YET KNOW OF THE MAGIC PROTECTING HIS FOE. BUT IN TIME HE WILL BREAK EVEN THE STRONGEST DEFENSES IN AN ATTEMPT TO DEFEAT THE ONE HE HAS MARKED AS HIS EQUAL...  
**  
"**THE BRIDES OF DARKNESS WILL DESTROY THE HOME OF THE MARKED ONE**..."  
  
At the precise moment that Ron's wide-open eyes closed and his body reclaimed itself and slumped back sleeping on the sofa, a figure dressed in black appeared out of the fire and, looking panic-stricken, rushed over to the pale-faced Molly.  
  
"Quickly," breathed Snape, "I couldn't stop them- we must get Harry now, before it's too late."  
  
"What's going on?" yawned Ron, waking up and stretching as if from a long nap.  
  
Hermione looked from Ron to Molly to Snape, and back to Molly. She promptly fainted foreward into Ron's lap.  
  
Molly and Snape rushed out of the room to get Arthur and Bill.  
  
Ron felt decididly confused, then remembered his confession from a few minutes earlier, and felt a bit better with Hermione's tawny-haired head in his lap.  
  
But what was all the commotion about?


	5. Bounce the Moon

Written after seeing movie 3... I was inspired by Thewlis's characterization of Moony and thought I'd add this scene to my originally planned story... By the way, my one-shot The Prophet was a companion piece to this story, this chapter and the next one in particular, but I decided that it was important enough to make it part of this story. Thus, it has been deleted as its own story but is now chapter 4 of Housewarming. Ta da! This means I shall probably have to add more scenes from other POV's than Lupin's... which makes sense, comsidering what I've got planned for some of the other characters... evil grin I don't own Lupin... sniffle sniffle... or anyone else in JKR's world. I'm just absconding with them for a bit, but I'll return them in the same state I found them in. Except Lupin might be ruffled up a bit. :-)  
  
Chapter 5: Bounce the Moon  
  
The next day dawned similar to the last. Remus felt as though monotony had taken over his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. With Sirius gone, even the most interesting things, like Order meetings, were glum. A month after his friend's death, he warned himself often to snap out of it, but to no avail.  
  
After a quick bowl of cereal, Remus charmed his bowl clean and glanced at his to-do list. He checked off "Scour the Bathrooms," and read the rest of the list to decide his plan of action for the day.  
  
He chose "Restock Kitchen and Potions Cabinet." Not a big fan of going out in public, he wanted to get this one out of the way. Besides, he reasoned, he could escape an earful from Molly if she saw full cabinets and drawers the next time she came by for an Order meeting, instead of the sparse ones the kitchen of Black Manor now boasted. He went back upstairs, donned trousers, a shirt, and an old cardigan, and placing his wand in his back pocket, made his way out of the house and in the general direction of Diagon Alley.  
  
---------------------------------------------------- #2: Restock Kitchen and Potions Cabinet  
  
It was lunchtime, and Tonks found herself once again with no one to spend it with. She remembered Remus's reaction to her company the day before, and decided, Bugger him; he's going to have to put up with me again. She gathered up her cloak and lunch bag, checked out, and finally went downstairs to floo into the kitchen of Black Manor.  
"Remus?" she called out, stepping out of the fireplace. "Remus!" Louder this time. "Hmmm..." She wondered where he could be. Setting her things down on the kitchen table, she wandered up the staircase, down the hall, and into the drawing room, calling his name again. No answer. She took the next flight of stairs into the second floor, and called out again. She decided to check his bedroom, because if he were sleeping, she had every intention of waking him up quite forcefully so that she could have someone to talk to during lunch.  
  
Knock knock knock. "Remus!!" Still no answer. "Damn him!" Tonks thought. She grabbed the door handle and burst in, not realizing that it was unlocked. Recovering from almost tripping over the threshold, Tonks realized Remus must have gone out for something. She was about to close his door and go back to the kitchen downstairs when she realized that she was alone in Remus's room, a place she had never explored before. All of a sudden and quite without any conscious reason, Tonks felt the distinct urge to snoop. Looking around behind her once more to make sure she was alone, Tonks gave in to her desire.  
  
"Hmm. Nothing unusual. Bollocks. I was hoping..." Tonks was disappointed at the plain navy blue flannel of the comforter on his bed, the bare mahogany of his dresser top, and the lack of adornment on his walls and closet door. She opened two of the four drawers in his dresser, only to find simple white underthings and one or two of Molly's handknit jumpers. And to think, a part of her believed that there must be something there behind all of that boringness... The more time went on, the less frequently he teased her by calling her Nymphadora or picked on her about her clumsiness. It had gotten worse when Sirius died. All the life Lupin had had died with his friend that day. And the poor thing wasn't a bad-looking chap either. A little rumpled, in a studious way, maybe, but overall handsome. Tonks sighed. Another good man, wasted...  
  
Then something quite interesting caught her eye.  
  
There was something large underneath Remus's bed, near the foot. She kneeled down to see what it was. It appeared to be one of those old grammophones, like the one in her dad's attic. It had a horn attatched, and looked to be in pretty good condition, except for the fact that it was gathering dust in spades. "Where did he ever find this?" Tonks wondered aloud, dragging the record player out and dusting it off with her robe sleeve. There was a piece of yellowed tape stuck to the side, which read, "Ann Price" in neat script. She made a mental note to ask Remus later on whose name it was. Behind the Victrola was a box, which Tonks heaved out to investigate.  
  
This box was chock full of records arranged in alphabetical order- from Benny Carter to Dizzy Gillespie to Glenn Miller to Artie Shaw. The very last album was by someone she remembered hearing of, vaguely- a muggle named Frank Sinatra. She picked it up and looked at the cover, only to find a note which had been tucked inside but which fell out when Tonks lifted it.  
  
Moony, This is to add to your collection. I got Arthur to pick it up from a muggle shop in London. It's supposed to be a classic, so I thought you'd like it. Happy Christmas, brother.  
  
Padfoot  
  
Tonks fought back the wave of emotion that was threatening to overtake her. This must have been from last Christmas. She had kept the note he had written to her then, accompanied by a Weird Sisters shirt and tickets to their concert. Oh, how she had wished he could have gone with her to that show. Sirius had a way of making everyone feel a little more alive. He always had, even since Azkaban. She recalled moments from her childhood when he had played with her as though he weren't years older, as if he were a child himself. He was so kind, and gentle. And now he was gone.  
  
Pushing those thoughts out of her head, she decided to try to play Lupin's record. Her father had showed her how once, long ago, but she wasn't sure if it would work, and certainly didn't want to ruin her friend's things with her clumsiness. But she was pretty sure... yes, if you put this there, and then set this on it, now...  
  
"YOU MAKE ME FEEL SO YOUNG/ YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE SPRING HAS SPRUNG/ EVERY TIME I SEE YOU GRIN/ I'M SUCH A HAPPY INDIVIDUAL..."  
  
Tonks panicked, looking up to make sure no one had heard. This was perhaps a bit too loud. She cast a silencing charm on the room, continuing to listen to the music. She found that she rather liked it. Very snazzy, she thought, as a new tune started playing.  
  
"It happened in Monterey, a long time ago/ I met her in Monterey, in old Mexico..."  
  
She was up on her feet, dancing to the rhythm of the big band music behind Sinatra's smooth voice, when a noise downstairs alerted her to reality. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she glanced at her watch- "Time to Go to Work, You Silly Ass!" it read in great pink digital letters across the face. She scrambled to take the record off of the grammophone, place it back in its cover and its cover back in its box, and to shove the box and the record player back under Remus's bed. A voice downstairs told her Remus was here and had seen her things on the table. "Tonks!" he called. "Where are you?"  
  
"Finite incantatem," she whispered, ending the silencing charm she had placed on the room. When she was safely on the landing, she answered him. "I'm here, Remus! I was investigating the bathrooms!" She jumped down the stairs two at a time, talking as she moved.  
  
"Did you eat?" he asked her when she reached the kitchen out of breath.  
  
"Gotta run!" she exclaimed, not answering him but snatching her things from out of his arms and rushing headlong toward the fireplace. She threw floo powder into it, causing it to turn emerald green. "Ministry of Magic!" she cried out, and within a moment she was spinning away from a bewildered Remus.  
  
Shrugging his shoulders, he unwrapped the packages he had bought in the Alley and began to put them in their rightful places. He saved a slab of chocolate he had rather selfishly bought for himself, and took it up to his bedroom to enjoy before taking a nap.  
  
She had been in here. He could smell her. That must have been why she was so hasty to leave. The prospect of a young woman coming into his bedroom when he wasn't at home and snooping around would have annoyed him, he thought, were it anyone other than Tonks. Still, it did unnerve him a bit. He looked around. Everything looked as it had been, except... What was that? A piece of paper lay on the ground, upside down. He bent over to pick it up, read it, and felt his stomach clench. Sirius. Tonks must have gotten into his old records. He folded the letter up, reached under his bed, and pulled out the box he hadn't looked at since before his friend had died. Then, he hadn't had time for music. Now, he didn't have the heart for it. He sifted through the records, smiling in spite of himself at the memories they invoked- The Christmas that Lily had presented him with an old Ella Fitzgerald album and done her best impression of her; the countless times his poor mother had given him dancing lessons when he was a boy while they listened to those same Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey records; the nights he had sat up, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, and just buried himself in books to the sounds of Miles Davis and Edith Piaf. He had grown old since those days. Every minute he was growing a bit older, a bit more grounded and yet still lost.  
  
He reached to the back of the box. He took the final record out and placed it on his bed. He Summoned the Victrola out from under his bed and placed the record on it. He did all of this without thinking. Snapping a corner of chocolate from the bar in his hand, he swayed to the music as he found himself imagining Tonks had done a few minutes before. What a strange person she was, he reflected, the chocolate melting on his tongue as he swayed to Sinatra...  
  
"...You make me feel so young/ You make me feel there are songs to be sung/ Bells to be rung, and a wonderful fling to be flung..."  
  
And then, he heard a commotion downstairs. 


End file.
